Point-blank
by fearlessinspace
Summary: The world appears to be just where he left it the last time he's seen it. [ongoing post-Defenders story; the one where Matt comes back to the land of living, sees his own tombstone, has some real one-on-one talk with Karen and Foggy, looks for whoever saved him and gets into a lot of emotional shit]
1. The Aftermath

He opens his eyes and the world is blank.

The blurred sounds of police and ambulance sirens become clearer as seconds pass, and the rest of his senses slowly wake up. The traffic, the birds, a customer ordering sandwiches at a bodega downstairs, a child screaming from an unknown distance, it's all too loud, all too loud, just like 20 years ago when-

"Call Maggie," says a woman's voice to his right and his mind snaps back into silence. "He's awake."

Matt lets out a semi-loud _ugh_ and his instincts tell him to move and escape as fast as possible – after all, the space around him isn't yet familiar. But in spite of his mind's command, his body doesn't move. His heart beat is regular and blood circulation is just fine, but it's like his extremities are numb.

 _Breathe in, Matthew._

 _Breathe out._

His next attempt to move is once again fruitless, and the one after that, the one that might've succeeded, is stopped by a new female figure entering the room, throwing herself at the side of his bed and pushing his shoulders down, gently. Her heart rate's jumping and her breath hitches.

"Matthew." She says almost inaudibly. Her hand reaches for his cheek, slowly and carefully, but Matt pulls back as much as he can until the numbness stops him.

The feel of her skin against his face almost, just almost seems familiar, but he can't quite put his finger on it. He might've felt it before, a long time ago. She smells faintly of lavender and soap, a combination that he's sure he'd seen many times before, but with an addition of something sweet, and it has his mind occupied for a couple of more minutes. He relaxes under her touch, something he'd hardly let himself do if the circumstances were different.

Quickly enough, he snaps out of it.

There's something else in the air, tangy, almost like iron. It's blood, his blood.

 _Wait, what?_

Then it suddenly comes crashing down. Midland circle. Elektra. The Hand. Foggy and Karen, they were waiting for me. _Elektra._

 _I'm supposed to be dead._

His mind races a hundred miles per hour, all his thoughts and memories leaking back into his consciousness, all he let go of when he braced himself for a well-deserved death surges back.

"Where am I?" He asks, despite already figuring out that the two women with him in the room are nuns (the lavender gave it away) and that he's still somewhere near Hell's Kitchen (he can hear the buzzing of neon lights and drunken customers from local bars he knows around the Kitchen).

He senses the woman next to his bed turn her head towards the other nun and nod, and the other leaves the room without a word.

"Matthew." She says as softly as the previous time, moving her hand from his cheek down to his own hands, fingers intertwining. "You're safe. You're okay. Trust me."

There are no jumps in her heartbeat, so it must be the truth. Although, he probably shouldn't be so quick to trust other people's definition of _'safe'_.

"That's not the answer to my question."

The nun sighs and puts her head into her free hand.

"My name is Margaret M- Maggie. You can call me Maggie. You're in a safe place to heal, a hospital room."

Her last name, what stopped her from saying it? Why the hesitation? If he should trust her, she should trust him enough to give him her full name. Matt pushes the thought aside for now.

"But not Metro-General, obviously. _Where_ am I?"

"In the same orphanage you were brought to twenty years ago, Matthew."

It's not anger that rises in his throat and lungs, it's not even fear. It's disgust, bad memories inexplicable noise in his ears. It's like he's nine all over again.

" _How_ did I get here?"

"We- we don't know. A week ago, late at night, one of the nurses heard a noise coming from this room, which was previously locked and empty, and we found your bloody broken body lying in this bed, the same bed you were brought to so many years ago."

 _She isn't lying._

 _Wait, a week? He's been asleep for a week?_

 _Where is his suit?_

"Wh- What did I look like? When you found me?" He asked hesitantly.

With Karen knowing, and Danny and Jessica and Luke and who else knowing, it's more than enough. Nobody else needs to know.

"You were wrapped in a blanket. One of hours."

 _Still not lying. Good._

 _At least his identity is still safe._

He pulls his hand away from hers and pushes himself up in a sitting position.

 _Shit. It's making his ribs and insides sting real bad._

He's exhausted from making the smallest of moves and dozes off again right after hearing the nun mention tea.

For the next few days he is forced to relive the childhood horror.

Living on soup and vegetables. Listening to therapists telling him to let it go, to forget his tragedy and move on like nothing happened. Being stuck in that god forsaken bed with a shaky brain and attacks of numbness and uncontrollable noise ringing in his ears.

The only light in that tunnel was the nun called Maggie. She felt familiar, different from the others. Her voice was soothing, rising a feeling that he'd never felt before. True, he's known her for a short amount of time, nevertheless. The only thing, though, that puzzled him was how she knows about his accident. She speaks of it like she was there, one of the nuns that took care of him when he was nine, but he's sure he'd remember her.

She's the only person he knows he'll miss once he takes the window of opportunity and escapes through the fire escape and back into the world of the living.


	2. The Misunderstood

Having the mask from the old costume back on feels oddly satisfying (even though it's actually a scarf some lady accidentally dropped from her terrace and it landed on the building's fire escape).

Going back home is something Matt doesn't feel was right to do, despite his common sense telling him differently.

 _Matt, you're dressed in somebody else's clothes that barely fit your shoulders and your stitches and barely-healed bones would be better off with you lying in bed._

The compass in his heart points in a different direction, and before he knows it, he's at the cemetery. The pungent smells of smoke and wilted flowers fills his nostrils as he's nearing the western gate. Matt halts near a tree, close enough to hear anybody and everybody present at the cemetery.

Ever since he woke up, a fragment of his mind has been kept occupied wondering: _Do others think I'm dead?_ A big-ass skyscraper did crash onto him and - he can't say it, he _can't_ say her name – so it wouldn't faze him if he really is believed to be dead. _At least dead as Daredevil, not as Matt Murdock. Well, except for the constantly-rising number of people who do know about both sides of the coin._ If he's correct – and he often is – is Matt Murdock then to be erased from the face of the Earth? Hopefully, the answer will come soon.

Usually, he should be able to pinpoint a location of his dad's grave easily. He does go there once a month to leave flowers and reminisce. The sound of boxing gloves hung on the tombstone lightly bumping into each other, pushed by the breeze, is his anchor - helps him make sure that it's always in the same place, just where he left them.

Now, however, it's muffled and unclear, most probably because of serious head-trauma he'd decided to ignore.

He sneakily makes his way to his father's grave, even though he made sure twice that the entire cemetery was empty. Judging by the sounds of nature coming from the nearby trees? About and hour after midnight. It's just then that the crickets make themselves heard - he's learned that when he was twelve, visiting the woods near the cemetery with Stick-

 _Stick._

He'll never get a proper burial now, will he? Despite all the times Stick has tried to either fool him, mislead him, hurt or kill him, or make him cut ties with the world - he has Stick to thank for everything he now knows. If it hadn't been for him, he'd probably still be in that god forsaken nunnery, stuck with therapists, endless piercing shrieks and noises ringing inside his skull, making every inch of his body scream with pain, hands plastered over his ears. Stick has lied to him on countless occasions, made Elektra fool him, made her do things he'd later on lose trust for. Without Stick, non of the shit that has happened to him would've happened, but he'd be forever stuck in that bed. He wouldn't have his life, his job, his friends, his loved ones. He'd never have met Elektra.

For a while he was sure that she was wrong. _I'm the only one that understand you, Matthew_ \- she'd say. Most of the time he'd let himself believe that she was wrong, but every once in a while he'd think: _which part of me does she understand so well as she says?_ Definitely not his job, nor his best friend since college, nor his need for justice, nor his inability to keep the girl for longer than one goddamn week, and for sure not the loneliness he feels more often than not yet still enjoys. Maybe the joy in breaking bones and punching flesh and muscle, smelling blood. Jumping around the law and serving justice by beating people up in back alleys. Maybe, maybe not. But during the days of _The People vs. Frank Castle_ trial, he figured it out. While Foggy and Karen seemed to be focusing energy in splitting up his two personas - Daredevil and Matt Murdock - Elektra seemed to have understood the single most important thing they didn't. _Matt Murdock and Daredevil - the infamous Devil of Hell's Kitchen - are one._ He truly loves Foggy and Karen, sometimes more than life itself, but Elektra was the one that understood him. She lied to him, yes, she tried to kill him, to get him to kill, she brought out the darkness in him and he brought out the light in her - at least, he did his best.

Sometimes, his best just isn't enough.

It's been a while since Matt truly felt this sad, and it's not just grieving loss or because he's at a damn cemetery.

 _What does one have left in life when two of his most loved world are dead, and the other two do not understand his identity, who he is?_

Maybe he truly was ready to die.

He turns around from his father's grave to leave when his mind snaps back into focus and his nostrils fill with smells of fresh roses and hints of jasmine. He stops at the grave next to his fathers.

 _Smells of freshly carved marble and candle smoke. Curious._

Matt bends his knees and picks up one of the roses and feels against the petals with his fingertips.

Soft, the texture of the petal smooth, giving out scent as he rubs his finger against it. _Fresh, either from today or yesterday._

 _It's a new grave._

He puts the flower back on the ground gently, right where he picked it up, and walks a few steps towards the tombstone and lays his fingers over the carving, moving carefully from left to right.

It said _Matthew Michael Murdock_.


	3. The Attempt at Redemption

The path he takes to get back home (or what's left of it) is the same one he took from the nunnery to the cemetery - over New York's rooftops. However, this time Matt walks.

He figures that walking can sometimes bring results similar to meditation. Not in the sense of self-healing, but it's calming, gives him time to actually think things through without making his adrenaline levels climb by running and doing crazy-ass flips.

The first thing on his mental to-do list was probably letting some people know he's not actually dead. Either first Foggy and Karen, and then.. whom later? _Does anybody else need to know, though?_ It probably makes most sense that anybody who knows about his identities - he labels them as _identities_ for now - should know, and the list has gotten longer quite quickly. That makes Foggy, Karen, Claire, Jessica, Luke, Danny, and even Father Lantom (though he never actually confessed straight up like _Hey, I'm Daredevil._ (God, does he hate calling himself that, it sounds silly)). Matt's pretty damn sure there's more people to add to the list, but when he thinks about it twice, it turns out most of them are dead. Or presumed dead.

His heart tells him, no mistake, that he should start with Foggy. Their friendship has suffered a ton of shit from both sides for more than a year now. Everything from lying to Foggy to keep him safe, lying about injuries, claiming how he fell down the stairs or tripped or whatever. Pretending to use his cane when he doesn't actually even need it. Assuring Foggy that he does not need a service dog (Foggy's always wanted a dog though). Knowing every single time when Foggy lied or hid something, and never mentioning it.

 _He just wanted to protect him_.

But, beside the expected trust issues that surfaced after shit hit the fan and his secret went up in flames, all he got was a ton of crap. Foggy loves him, he knows that. Foggy's not just his best friend, he's his brother, his family. The only family he's had since- _you know_. But Foggy is also a person who actively puts effort into trying to get Matt to simply forget and leave behind his _'other life'_. He understands that Foggy is - _was_ \- worried about Matt's health and aware and scared that his best friend might die every time he puts on that damned helmet and hides his face, but Foggy _got angry._ He got angry at Matt because he thought he was trying to be somebody else, somebody he's not.

 _Maybe he was only trying to get his best friend back._

 _But it's not like Matt ever left._

But who was he to ever get mad at Matt for being himself? He has no right to do so, not after claiming multiple times throughout their years of friendship that he'd support him and help him with whatever he needed. no matter how incredibly stupid or outrageous. Is that what best friends do? Leave you behind, afraid of the truth? Force you to change you and never even try to accept you for who you really are?

Before Matt even notices, something starts boiling up inside him. His cheeks and forehead are red and hot, full of blood. It's not anger, not rage. Annoyance? Perhaps. But it proves how the decision not to go to Foggy first is the right one.

 _His mind wins this round_.

His focus snaps back into reality, senses sharpened. He picks up speed, rushes and jumps across a few rooftops to the right of his previous course and minutes later, at full speed, he halts to a stop. Familiar smells; smoke and dust, candles and burnt-out light bulbs. Familiar sounds, too; buzzing of the A/C and the old latte machine, creaking of the organ.

He tips his head towards the Cathedral of Saint Patrick and jumps into an alley next to it, heading towards the back door, and entrance only him and Father Lantom know about and use. To Matt's surprise, it's unlocked.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

Matt can feel the older man jump, his throat go dry and his pulse go bat-shit at the sound of his voice. Father coughs and picks up the glass of water he always keeps in the confession booth, gulps a few sips and almost drops the glass, hands shaking.

 _At least his heart rate isn't too fast. Wouldn't want him to have a heart attack._

"Matthew." he says silently.

"Yes, Father. I ask forgiveness."

"For scaring an old man to death?" says Father jokingly, perhaps as a way to relieve himself of shock and lighten the air - it seems to have become rather thick and dense.

"For something that I've done. I've broken the fifth commandment."

His previously tightened muscles relax as the man sighs.

"You have not actually committed the sin."

"I have willingly tried and failed. The intention still counts."

 _Silence._ But not the one that involves thinking. The one that involves waiting. Father Lantom waiting for further comments from Matt? Perhaps not. After all, he's the one who breaks.

"Did you truly love her, Matthew?"

A moment of shock, yet not a single bit of hesitation.

"Yes, I did."

"Do you still?"

A drop of sweat slides down Matt's temple. Up until a second ago, he was sure about it more than anything else in his life - _or afterlife_. But now?

"I'm- I'm not sure."

Father Lantom grasps his hands together, squeezing his fingers tight - something he often does.

"So was this _attempt_ made out of love or for closure?"

On Matt's decision the question is left unanswered.

 _Tick tock._ The clock strikes three in the morning.

They sit in silence.

For a few minutes Matt contemplates asking the old man as to why he is still there even though it's _way_ past his work hours. " _Beside the things in the job description, cleaning and repairing helps me clear my head"_ Father would laugh. Though, why was he in the confession booth when Matt sneaked into the church? _"That thing needs cleaning real bad."_

"Father?"

"Yes, Matthew?"

Matt sighed deeply, not even sure how to begin.

"I feel like my judgement's clouded at the moment, and all I'm asking of you is an opinion. My mind is helplessly set on finding out who my savior, _so to call it,_ is. But my heart says letting my loved ones know I'm _alive_ is the priority. Right now, my mind is in advantage."

"Because you're letting it be?"

 _Again, silence._ It's not often that something leaves him speechless, but after what he's been through in the past few weeks it only seems appropriate that he lets go of all previous assumptions about literally anything and everything.

 _Life seems to jump back and bite him in the ass the first chance it gets._

"Up until this point in time, has lying to your loved ones ever brought anything good?" Father Lantom continues.

"Protection's not good enough?"

The older man sighs.

"I will be completely open and honest with you now, Matthew. Is there anything to protect them from, anymore? Knowing your situation and knowing you're alive - can it bring them any harm? Put them in any danger that they haven't been facing up until now?"

Matt almost inaudibly slips from the booth and has been doing his best to find the answer to Father Lantom's question while jumping his way home.


	4. The Preparation

His apartment is untouched. The same sheets are on the bed, the remains of broken furniture scattered all over the floor, stale cornflakes in the cereal box on the top shelf and dead flowers on the kitchen table.

 _Feels good to be home._

It took some time for him to get to both Foggy's and Karen's respective offices and slip a poorly-handwritten note in each's window, so by the time he dragged himself home the sun was peaking through the horizon, ready to rise high and shine on his city. It is one of those rare days when Matt realizes that there is no actual work to be done and the bed sounds like the perfect option.

 _Not like he'd been sleeping for a literal week up until a few days ago._

His first intention is to get some shut-eye, but it seems like sleep just _won't come_. So working the grey cells it is.

As much as he hates to admit it, _and he truly does,_ Father Lantom was nothing less than correct.

Speaking about the things Matt hates: arguing with Foggy. But not regular arguing, like should they get the spicy chicken noodles or veggie noodles _(ah, the good ol' college days)_. More like arguing about Matt going out at night and doing bad things _(damn, that sounds terrible)_. And what he hates even more: Karen pushing him away, and him actually pushing back. Despite everything that happened between the two of them, and between him and Elektra, he does love Karen. It's true, she doesn't understand him completely, or even at all, but it turns out neither did Elektra. Maybe he only wants to be understood, more than anything.

Actually _nobody_ understands because all the shit that happened to him - it doesn't happen to _literally anybody_. But that's a whole another tale to tell _._

Yeah, he loves Karen, but it hurts him a bit _(lie, a lot)_ to see her- not be fine on her own, but watch her distance herself away from him. Despite popular belief, Matthew Murdock actually _has_ feelings.

Matt turns on his side and closes his eyes. The sounds of raindrops lightly tapping against the dirty glass of his bedroom windows and thoughts of Karen Page's lips on his lull him to sleep.

She pulls loose strands of her blonde hair behind her ear and curses as the office key slips from her hand.

 _Pick it up. Push it in. Turn the knob._

She closes the door behind her, always appreciating privacy, even in a work space, and stands there for a while, looking at Ben's old framed exposes through the years. Something inside her shivers – it's not necessarily a bad thing, and she's used to it after all. It seems she spends a lot more time looking at those walls than she's aware of. But suddenly, she's shaking rather than just shivering.

 _(Gun in her hand. Pulling the trigger. James Wesley. Dead. Wilson Fisk. Alive.)_

 _Exhale._

 _Get your shit together, Page._

She paces slowly to her desk, settles down, opens up her laptop, rubs her eyes _(thank god for that budge-proof mascara)_ and takes a sip of her shitty morning coffee.

 _It's still not worse than the coffee she used to brew in the Nelson & Murdock office._

Karen smiles to herself, a bittersweet taste on her tongue, and not from the damn coffee.

Karen spends the next fifteen minutes staring at the blinking line on an empty sheet in MS Word, and it stares back at her.

It's been staring back at her, dead and empty, ever since Matt died.

 _And the smile is gone._

She is snapped out of her empty concentrated state by the sound of her phone. She eyes it for a moment before picking up.

 _"KAREN HOLY SHIT DID YOU FIND THE NOTE?"_

Karen winces at the sounds, not annoyed by Foggy but by the migraine that seemed to have been ruining her head for a while now.

"Foggy wh- What note?"

 _"How did you not find it? Dammit Page, I expected more from a detective such as yourself."_

"I don't have time for this right now, Foggy. What note? Where is it?"

 _"I found it at my window. Try looking there."_

And to her surprise, there it it.

 _"Karen? Karen, did you find it?"_

But she pays no attention to Foggy. The entirety of her focus, or what's left of it, is on the note.

Yellow paper, messily folded in half, twice, yet pressed down at the edges to stop it from opening easily. Lazy, almost illegible handwriting, perhaps resembling one of a child.

 _Nelson and Murock rooftop. 9pm._

 _"Karen? You there?"_

Karen's breath hitched. _It could be a trap. But who would set it up? And why Nelson and Murdock?_ The last time she went even near that building was when Matt called and told her that- told her the truth. _But this can't be Matt. Can it?_

 _"Kaaareeeeeen."_

Shit. Foggy's still on the line.

"Yeah, I'm here, Foggy. Found the note."

 _"Should we go? I mean, it could be a trap, for all I know."_

"That's exactly what I thought. But Foggy, could it be-"

 _"Karen. No."_

She sighs.

 _Of course it can't be Matt. His body is crushed somewhere under a goddamn corporate skyscraper._

"I know. Let's- Let's try. I'll bring some protection, and I advise you do the same."

Karen hangs up the phone before Foggy can make a very inappropriate joke at a very inappropriate moment.

Matt wakes up just in time. He reads 8.24pm on his Braille clock.

A part of him gravitates towards the suit. Even though the previous one was destroyed in the chaos, Melvin made sure to make him another one, kind of as a gift rather than a part of their deal. But meeting the two of them _in_ the suit, _with_ the helmet, _right now_ would be like a blow in the stomach.

Another part of him reaches for the tie and the dress shirt and all that work-everyday jazz, but it seems too formal.

 _What is he even doing? Since when does he spend precious time planning an outfit for revealing to his friends that he's not, in fact, dead?_ _You have too much free time, Murdock._

He grabs the sweats and a tee, something he can't recall Karen seeing him in more than three or four times. He aims for the darker ones (Claire took the liberty of making braille labels for everything in his house that he can't really tell apart himself) and grabs his backup black ski mask.

 _Better safe than sorry._

He runs out of his apartment (via the roof entrance, of course), partially terrified of what might happen next.


	5. The Reveal

The reveal

 _Come on Karen, where the hell are you?_

Foggy whispers to himself, checking his phone for the twelfth time in the past seven minutes.

A year and a half ago, he would've been worried, scared shitless, to be exact, in case Karen shown up on time. The reasons for it could've been a lot of bad things: people like Fisk (and all the bad guys connected to him), The Punisher (though that's all cleared up now), and the rising number of superhuman, ultra-strong mystical villain assholes invading Hell's Kitchen.

Now, he's just plain annoyed that his friend is late. 8 minutes, to be exact.

He's actually very happy and relieved to be able to let himself not worry about death of his friends, thought at a great cost.

He's not that annoyed anymore – sadness has taken over.

Snapping him from his absent-mindedness and grief is a light grab to the shoulder and a head full of golden hair in his peripheral view.

"I'm so sorry, Foggy." She said, out of breath, cheeks flushed.

"Where the hell were you? I've been waiting for whole 9 minutes- "he takes a peek at his wristwatch, "-and 37 seconds!" he finished, a pretend-angry tone to his voice.

Karen laughs and shrugs, "Sorry, couldn't flag a cab."

Opening the door to the building they used to spend a lot of time in a while ago, the pair notice the same familiar creak it makes as it closes behind them. The smell and the look of it is identical to the one from _the olden days_ (if that even counts as the olden days). Cigarette bums scattered on the floor, reek of mould and smoke filling up their nostrils, getting stronger as they slowly climb up the stairs.

.

 _He noticed all of it._

Karen, cursing under her breath, not loud enough for the cab driver to notice. Her nails clicking against her keys inside her purse, searching for her phone. A hitch in her breath as she replies to a message (replying to Foggy, he guesses). Her fingertips brushing against the $20 bill as she passes it to the driver and thanks him. The smell of Indian food as she opens the door to the cab and leaves, just a bit of it sticking to her hair. Even the faint smell of strawberry bubblegum in her breath as she speaks to Foggy (she always liked strawberry most and always had it in her purse, despite Foggy and himself teasing her all the time about it).

The clicking of Foggy's new wristwatch, one he'd probably got for his birthday (something Matt missed due to being half-dead for the past week). His usual cologne, the same one he had ever since quitting at Landman and Zach and opening up Nelson & Murdock. Black coffee in a styrofoam cup, still hot in his hand. Foggy, sighing as Karen shows up in front of him, his heartbeat jumping only slightly as she greeted him, slowing back down to normal almost instantly. The shifting of the knot in his back as he opens the door, letting the lady in first, like a real gentleman, and then entering himself.

Them, chatting away as they climb up the stairs, step by step, trying their best to cover their nervousness with small talk about the weather, what's new at work, and the taste of coffee from the new place that opened up shop next to Josie's. Apparently, Starbucks couldn't even hold a candle.

Snapping back his concentration to his close surrounding and himself, Matt remembers that he's still got his black ski-mask on, the same one that's been sitting in his chest in the closet back in his apartment.

Having already figured that showing up in the Devil suit would certainly be a kick in the teeth, having the old mask on would lead to a similar result. Therefore, with one delicate swipe, careful not to rip open any of the wounds on his face (and there still were a couple of 'em), he removes his mask, ready to show his face to incoming friends.

His decision to give the notes to the two of them (placing them on the windowsills of their respective offices, to be precise) was something that took a lot of time and thought. On the way, there were some obstacles – for example, the idea that they could be mad at him for not letting them know that he was still alive and breathing _immediately_ after finding out himself (the act doesn't seem like something good friends do, but knowing what kind of reactions he's faced in the past, he's prepared for anything and everything). However, having reviewed all that's happened to him in the past, along with Stick reassuring him that if he wants to be good, even the best, at what he does, he needs to cut loose the distractions – all of them, including his friends and loved ones – he's now sure that Stick couldn't have been more wrong. And all that contemplation and reevaluation of morals, what right and what's wrong, which path is the correct one, led to him sitting near the edge of the building, leaning on the short wall behind him, waiting, anxious about what's to happen next.

.

As they reached the end of the final staircase, Karen put her hand on the doorknob, hesitating. The expression on Foggy's face was one of compassion – he understood exactly what she was feeling. Anything could be behind that door – anyone who's even known about where Nelson & Murdock's office was, Claire, the nurse, or even one of their enemies' men, ready to shoot them to pieces. Going through there was dangerous, all right. But they'd gotten that far, and there was no going back.

Karen readied her pepper spray, clenched it and put her finger on the trigger, while Foggy took out his mini baseball bat from the bag he was carrying, silently praying he isn't about to die.

They open the door.

A man in black looks up, towards them.

Foggy drops his coffee.

Karen whispers.

" _Matt."_


	6. The Reunion

To a regular person, all that could be heard is the howl of ambulance and police sirens, ricocheting off the walls of the surrounding blocks, leaving an echo behind as it goes further and further away from them, and the light tapping of little droplets of water falling from the black treacle sky – it seems that rain is starting.

To Matt, it was all white noise. The only sound that was clear to him was the heartbeats of his friends, racing at break-neck speed and not showing signs of slowing down.

Foggy's mouth seems to be doing something that kind of makes him look like a fish – it keeps opening and closing, as if he's got something to say but can't really let any sounds out. His grip on the bat has loosened – just a tad less pressure and it would fall out of his hand, down to the ground.

Karen's hands are still covering her mouth, as if it's difficult to breathe, like there's not enough oxygen. Her entire body is shaking – it's barely noticeable, but not something Matt would let slip.

To the three of them, it seems as if time itself has stopped. Even though it's been only about 10 seconds since the pair came through the door only to see what they thought was impossible, to the trio it felt like eternity.

Being the first one to break the ice that seemed to have frozen both them and the passing of time, Karen sniffs barely audibly, steadily slips the pepper spray back into whatever pocket of her purse and starts taking steps towards Matt.

 _One by one._

 _Slowly._

Almost as if she's walking on thin ice, careful not to crack the delicate layer beneath her, keeping her from falling into the bottomless lake of ice water and eventually dying of hypothermia.

Or as if she's walking on broken glass, barefoot, trying to avoid stepping on crystal-clear shards and staining the floor with her blood.

To Matt, her movements seemed like slow-motion. Not the walking-on-the-surface-of-the-moon kind, but the kind where it looks like she takes three-minute breaks in between each step. However, the more steps she makes, the more she seems to be gaining courage and picking up her pace.

 _One foot in front of the other, just like everybody else._

The moment he feels a pair of arms wrap around his bruised neck, holding him tightly, even hurting him just a bit, the world around him goes silent.

The tapping of the rain is gone.

The sirens in the distance were gone.

Foggy's heartbeat is gone.

All he could sense was _her_.

The hitch in _her_ breath. _Her_ almost-silent sniffles. _Her_ lips pressed against the side of his neck, bringing a jolt of cold to his much warmer skin. _Her_ body, held firmly against his, sharing whatever body heat she'd had left. _Her_ arms, keeping up the tightness of the grip throughout the entirety of the embrace. The tears rolling down _her_ cheeks, ruining the little amount of makeup she always wears.

 _Not like she ever needed any,_ he points out to himself.

"Hey, hey." He whispered to her softly. "I'm here, Karen. Shh."

"Matt, holy shit. I missed you so much. Don't do that to me ever again, goddamit." She whispered back.

He tried his best to calm her down, but now she was full-out crying. And it wasn't a sign of weakness – far from it. It was a sign of _strength_. Matt would always end up around strong women (Jessica and Claire as the clearest examples), and not by choice. And one of the first words he'd use to describe Karen would be _strong._ And right now, it's not physical strength that he sees on her – _it's the strength of her love that he feels_.

What seemed like a minute or two later, Karen has already calmed down a bit, and Matt noticed a figure right next to him, holding out a hand.

 _Foggy._

He kissed Karen's temple and let her go, grabbing the offering hand that helped him up, and pulled him into an embrace.

"Good to have you back, buddy." Foggy said, a hint of shakiness in his voice, and, a second later, a tear making its way onto Matt's black shirt.

"Good to be back" Matt said, putting some pressure into the hug with his best friend.

"But don't think you're gonna get out of this easily." Foggy almost mocked.

Karen agreed. "Yeah, I think we need to have a serious talk."

Matt laughed and couldn't help but keep the honest smile plastered across his face for a while longer.

Just then had he realized how much he's actually missed all of that. Not the way things were before, and especially not after everything went to shit ( _hint_ the breakup of Nelson & Murdock _hint_ ), but his friends. The presence of smiles on his friends' faces and the absence of the constant fear of death – that's what he missed most.

Saying that their reactions were the best ones possible would be an understatement. One, who doesn't know them well, would expect them to be more shocked – something like "how the actual fuck is my dead friend, whose grave I'd visited multiple times, still alive and breathing?" But taking a look at all they've been through, who wouldn't just be happy to see that one world isn't lost after all?

That being said, what Matt still hasn't figured out is that the two of them, no matter how much they loved him, had hoped that a part of him has stayed dead, buried six feet underground, rotting away in the dirt.


	7. The Confession

"Let me get this straight: you have absolutely _no idea_ who saved you from an entire building crashing down on you, you _do not_ _know_ if your crazy witch-ass ex is still alive _and_ you think you know a random nun based on the scent of a goddamn bar of lavender soap?"

"Yeah, Foggy. Something like that."

Foggy lets out a rather annoyed _sigh_ and drops back down on the couch.

"Wait. I didn't get one thing straight."

Both men look over at Karen.

"How does one survive a 35-storey building crashing onto them?"

Matt looks down, his face showing obvious signs that he himself is not sure how to answer.

"I… I don't know."

"Well, what do you know?" Foggy jumps back in.

"The only thing that I know _for sure_ is that I'm supposed to be dead. Buried under hundreds of tons of concrete and steel. Yet here I am."

With that statement, his friends sink back into the couch in defeat, acknowledging the fact that there really might not be anything else he could say and be sure it is true.

They sit in silence for a minute or two, when suddenly a phone rings, and Karen startles.

"Sorry. I gotta take this." Foggy excuses himself quietly, and leaves the room saying _Franklin Nelson with Jeri Hogarth and Associates_.

Now it's just the two of them, sitting across from each other in silence.

Matt takes another sip of his beer (the same one Stick once called _German piss_ , though Matt still stands by the fact that it is way better than the American excuse for beer), gets up and carefully walks over to the empty spot where Foggy was sitting just moments ago. Just in front of the spot he stops, silently asking for permission to sit next to her. As she nods in response (and doesn't point out that she nodded, already used to the fact that Matt _sees_ despite being blind) he takes a seat almost 3 feet away from her, worried about invading her personal space. She turns towards him, already knowing that he's planning on saying something, but doesn't push it.

 _Inhale._

 _Exhale._

 _Relax, Matthew._

"Uh, Karen… I've been meaning to ask you something." He says gently, with a calm voice, one that Karen personally always truly liked.

She smiles, easing his anxiety and relieving some of the tension.

"Shoot."

He clears his throat, obviously still uneasy about asking her upfront, mostly worried about what kind of reaction he might receive.

"It's something that I'd pointed out once or twice before. I don't want to push but, that tone in your voice, the one that appeared a bit before we took down Fisk – I asked you about it once before, but you seemed to be tiptoeing around the question, avoiding giving me a straight up answer."

Her breath hitched, she unconsciously brought up a hand to her mouth, her pulse spiked – she did not see this one coming.

"Matt, I- "

"Please. I _need_ to know."

Karen exhaled audibly, very much aware that she cannot escape this one. Actually, she didn't want to escape. She wanted to tell him what happened once or twice before but was kinda one-upped by his confession about being the guy that saved her life multiple times, the guy that brings justice when ones responsible for it are unable to fulfil their task – about being Daredevil.

"Um, remember James Wesley? One of Fisk's men?"

"How could I forget him." He responded bluntly.

"Well, the person that killed him… that was me."

Matt's mouth just dropped open. He froze.

Noticing his reaction, Karen instantly panicked – something that Matt immediately noticed.

"Karen..." he began but was quickly interrupted by the now terribly pale and ice-cold blonde sitting across from him, shifting constantly.

"Matt, _I swear_ , it wasn't supposed to go down that road. Ben and I, we visited Saint Benezet where Fisk's mother was, and Wesley kidnapped me and tried to force me to convince all of you that Fisk is actually a good guy, he pulled a gun on me, which I took from him. He thought I wasn't gonna shoot him, so he came at me and then I… shit, Matt, shit!"

Mighty fast she was in tears, literally trembling, scared out of her mind.

Whispering _shh_ and trying his best to comfort her, he wrapped her in an embrace and held her head, petting her golden locks, holding her tightly as if he's trying to suck out the bad stuff via touch, but she went on, tears rolling down her cheeks and right onto his shirt.

"I tried to forget, but _I can't_. Every time I close my eyes, he's there – his bloodied, lifeless body, staring back at me. I tried _everything_. Even drugs couldn't help me sleep. You know – it's like you're _constantly_ trying, _over and over and over again_ , to wash the blood off your hands but it just _won't fucking budge_. I crossed a line and I can't turn back. I'm sorry, Matt. _I'm so sorry_."

He closed his eyes, syncing his breathing with hers, making circles with his thumb on the small of her back, his lips on her temple, whispering soothing words. The knuckles of his other hand, however, turned white from pressure of a formed fist, trying his best not to break in front of her, not right now.

"Shit, Karen, if I'd know, I would've-, shit. I would've done something. But you're safe now."

She backed away from him, eyes bloodshot red, staring right into his tired ones.

"Am I safe, Matt? Am I?" she whispered, full seriousness in her voice.

"Karen, I promised I would keep you safe. The day I met you, after I brought you home, I told you I'd keep you safe. And I truly did my best. I'm sorry." He answered in a low voice, bringing his forehead to hers, noses almost touching.

Karen wiped away the last of her tears and put both hands on Matt's face, caressing him, trying her best to take in his words.

"Thank you, Matt." She said, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, enjoying the feel of his skin much more than she's expected.

At that moment, Foggy comes back into the room, his face rapidly changing from content to pure confusion at the sight of his friends barely keeping it together right in front of him.

"What did I miss?"


End file.
